Simulation 47
by jediapprentice6700
Summary: Pretender/Hitman X-over.Jarod investigates a murder and uncovers the secret of clandestine Agent 47.With the Centre on his trail, Jarod races to trap his new foe, before he becomes the next victim.But how can he catch an enemy who is just as clever as him
1. Chapter 1

**Hi everyone! I was watching Pretender the other day and suddenly I thought this was a good idea and decided to write it down. This may not turn into anything, but I thought it was worth a shot.**

**Simulation 47**

_**By jediapprentice6700**_

"_What do I do Sydney?"_

"_Just concentrate, Jarod."_

"_I can't do it! It doesn't make sense!"_

"_Just TRY Jarod!"_

_The small boy was encased in a large glass tube stuck in the ground near the door. There was a weapon in his hands._

"_How do I get out?" the boy was nervous. There were small wires poking out of his head, surrounding his cranium. Sydney stood, looking at the boy with determination. He looked around, surveying the area around him. _

_Suddenly, the boy crouched, pointing the gun. "But why? There's too much noise. I might hit someone. No human being can do it…"_

"_They have to Jarod; otherwise, that man wouldn't be dead."_

"_Uh……"_

_He aimed slowly, staring at the digital crowd below him. There was one man there that was his target. It seemed that he wouldn't get a shot off. Too many civilians were in his way. There was no way he could do this._

"_That's it! He wouldn't have gotten a shot off, he would have hit someone! Something about the whole thing is off. This whole thing is a setup. He was firing blanks to induce paranoia and cast off suspicion. The bullet came from elsewhere!"_

"_Are you sure?"_

"_Well….almost…"_

"_You have to be 100% sure."_

"_Well….I….."_

_They both craned their necks to look at the old man staring at them from the background. _

Jarod stopped the tape there. "Hmmm….." As if to help straighten his thoughts, he reached for a Darth Vader PEZ dispenser on the table, dropping a couple into his mouth. The taste of sugar gave him a rush to make him twitch.

He sat for a moment, staring at the screen, almost smiling at the people on the screen, that same stupendous grin on his face. Classical music floated from the radio as a smooth mellow sensation that calmed him a good deal.

Jarod typed in a few more variables and the image of his face increased. In the simulation, he had stone-cold murder written in the explanation. It scared him, frankly.

Jarod ate some more PEZ and stood up, dialing the number for Sydney's private line.

"This is Sydney," the small voice crackled over the line.

"Sydney! How are you today?"

"Jarod? Um, good, you?"

"Just looking over some old tapes, caught some ZZZs."

"Where'd you hear that?"

"TV."

"You watch a lot of that don't you?"

"Well, there's not much you can do back at the Centre." He put extra emphasis on "Centre".

"Yes…yes…anyways, I was wondering if you could come in and talk, Jarod. Maybe we could strike a deal…"

"I don't think so, Sydney, I remember how that worked out last time," he thought of Ms. Parker, most likely listening to this on the other side of the line.

"Well," he seemed hesitant, almost sighing, "take care of yourself, Jarod."

Jarod stood for a moment, frozen in place, "You too." He finally choked out.

Jarod hung up, biting the inside of his cheek. What was the Centre up to? He didn't like to think about it. With a shrug, Jarod stepped out of his apartment, pulling his jacket on, struggling with it like a child.

Dr. John Fredricks stepped into the surgery room and took one look at the patient. He had been dead for a while. It was a wonder they got anything done here with all of the slow-moving medical traffic.

"…Nurse!" A young blonde girl hurried into the room, her bright red high heels clacking on the floor noisily. She took one look at the body and frowned. Another one dead.

What now? They get the corpse out of here. "I'm going to say…maybe twenty minutes, don't you think?" Fredricks said. The nurse nodded grimly, almost saddened by these developments.

"10:13 AM, let's go nurse."

Fredricks stepped into the hall momentarily, and as luck might have it, an orderly was pushing by with a laundry cart. If he had looked closer, he would have noticed a rather odd lump in the sheets.

The orderly turned his head and stared at the doctor. "May I help you, sir?" his British accent pushed through faintly.

"Yes. We have a dead patient, and we'd like for you to cart him out."

The orderly's face suddenly relaxed a little. "Ok, show me where."

The two both walked through the door, the orderly carefully closing the door behind him. "Well, he was about 30 years old, he had Leukemia, and died about 20 minutes ago. That sums it up pretty well. Even someone of your nature can understand that, can't you?"

The indirect insult seemed lost on the orderly. Fredricks grunted slightly, and reached his hand to the sheets. "That may scare some of the patients, doctor, maybe we should cover it up."

Fredricks, annoyed, solemnly agreed. His hands grasped the sheets and with a fluid, mournful motion, draped the bedding over the man's face. "Hm?"

His elbow grazed something prickly. He turned his head to look. A cord was pulled out of the machine. Had he accidentally knocked it out? Fredricks bent over to check it out. He was a bit surprised to see it was connected to the monitors on his arm. "What the hell?"

That was when the cold steel of a poison syringe pierced his neck, and the doctor dropped dead. The comatose patient, sedated mildly, lay on the bed, sleeping quietly. The only thing the supposed "orderly" left with on that cart was the body of Doctor John Fredricks.

And nobody paid any attention to the barcode tattooed across the crown of his head.

**A short chapter, but I did it in about an hour, and off the top of my head, so just let me know if this was a good idea. Thanks for reading!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Well, my first chapter seemed rushed, and no wonder, I wrote it at midnight. So here's my first attempt at a GOOD chapter, and with all of the traffic in this section, I'm not surprised that I don't have reviews yet.**

**ENJOY!**

Jarod, also known to some as The Pretender, spent a majority of the day standing on the street corner where Frankie Mendez was killed, staring straight up at the building where the shot had come from.

The assassination took place in 1995, a year before Jarod escaped from the Centre. Jarod reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small red notebook. Inside was stapled a newspaper article reading: _Silent Assassin Strikes Again!_; it was printed in bold on the front page.

The victim was Franklin Lawrence Mendez, born October 1st, 1963, died August 22, 1995 from a sniper round to the head.

On the outside, Mendez seemed like a mild-mannered, respectable member of a prestigious law firm.

After an extended investigation, though, Mendez was found guilty of embezzlement, having smuggled 2 _million_ dollars out of the country and into personal accounts in Switzerland, Mexico, and France. Unfortunately, Mendez was acquitted due to a technicality. He had caused a good deal of uproar, but it soon died down.

But, apparently, it didn't die down enough for him to get out cleanly. Someone had wanted him dead, and hired a professional to do it.

During the impeding investigation, The Centre mocked up a simulation of the murder and found it to be inconclusive. There was no way neither Jarod nor the killer could have done it the way they had been informed. The entire thing was scrapped because they could get nothing out of Jarod, and continued running the tests on The Kennedy Assassination.

Nearby, a couple passed him, gruffly pushing him out of the way as they passed, but Jarod didn't notice, he was entranced, almost trying to imagine himself as the victim.

The entire area would have been crowded. A parade was riding through, and that means the assassin wouldn't have been able to get off a clean shot, and thus wouldn't have fired. According to autopsy reports, the bullet hit the victim dead center in the forehead, the mark of an expert in marksmanship.

From street level, the noise would have been bad, but not bad enough to cover up a gunshot. A silencer would decrease accuracy, so that was almost immediately put out of the way.  
A flash of light, a man dead in the street. Jarod could almost taste the crimson blood draining away into the gutters.

The crowd was growing as rush hour ensued, and Jarod decided to head off for lunch. Tomorrow he had an important job interview.

"This is it?" Ms. Parker pointed to a sleek metal and wood gun on the shelf, a Dragonuv sniper rifle. Sydney, now graying, stood behind her, his hands neatly folded over each other in his lap as he sat watching the exchange.

"Yep. He would just sit and examine it for hours, asking all kinds of weird, hypothetical questions. Sounded like he was going huntin' or something."

The manager of the South Alabama gun shop had a faint accent about him, and Parker ignored it completely. In her eyes, all southerners were trailer park trash, no matter how civilized. In her same snobbish way, she replied, "What kind of questions?"

"Well, he would ask if it was possible to set it off remotely and if how accurate it could be in the hands of a trained marksman. He seemed like such an easygoing fella too, always popping some candy in his mouth every couple of seconds too, like he was addicted to the stuff."

Parker looked at him questionably. "Really?"

Sydney gave a low, guttural chuckle at that. Parker flashed him a cursory glance, and then centered her eyes back on the weapon. THIS was certainly beyond the norm for little Jarod….

"What are you up to, Jarod?"

About the same time Miss Parker was investigation the Alabama weapon shop, $50,000 in American bills were being transferred from the account of a well-known Boston bond trader, recently widowed due to malpractice, into an unknown Eastern account in the United Kingdom. On the other end was a man staring at a large computer screen, his fingers fluidly tapping the keys in rapid succession.

The man was bald, and dressed rather classy, classical music floating from the speakers, relaxing the tensed assassin. He was wearing an expensive Italian suit, which consisted of a red tie, white shirt, and dark jacket and pants. Covering his hands were black leather gloves, concealing his almost nonexistent fingerprints.

An e-mail popped onto the screen, the sender labeled merely "Diana", and 47 opened it.

On the screen raised a completely blank slate of digital imagery, minus one word- CONTRACT. 47 turned off the computer and switched over to his private laptop. All of the information was there, as usual, already being transferred. As he waited, the killer slid a small box off a shelf, the silver Ort-Meyer logo stenciled on the front in silver. The lock clicked open, and he opened the box. Inside were two huge silver pistols known as Silverballers. The silent assassin locked back the slide, inserting a cartridge into the handle.

He locked it closed, and returned to the computer, bringing up the file of another man, his scarred face glowing on the screen as the hit man filed away his image for future use.

48 hours later the man was found dead, his throat slit like butter.


	3. Chapter 3

**Wow….this is definitely NOT my best piece of work so far….well….if you've made it this far without stopping, I suppose I could continue and try to improve. I guess crossovers just aren't my thing. Read and review please! Let me know what I did wrong! Besides a few grammar errors, I caught many of those myself.**

Jarod the Pretender sat down in the cozy office, clad in a brand new gray suit, shaking hands with one of the richest men in the state. He was interviewing for a job. He tapped his briefcase nervously, almost expressing his worry openly.

"Don't get choked up over nothing, Mr. Raines, I don't bite," the dark haired gentlemen, a lawyer by the name of Kirk Illsing, asked, referring to Jarod by his new assumed name, Jarod Raines.

"Sorry, I just get nervous when I interview for a job. It's kind of embarrassing." Jarod replied whimsically.

"So, I was looking over your resume, and it seems you have had experience in law work before, care to elaborate?"

Jarod related the story of the client who made paper clocks, wrongly accused of murder. He smiled at the memory of the cross-dressing limo driver and the way he had finally eluded the Centre at the last moment. Then he remembered the picture of his mother…

"Sounds like quite a story, Mr. Raines. I believe I've heard enough. I believe this interview is over. Welcome to the team."

They shook hands, and Jarod took his leave.

Agent 47 stared at the TV intently as the small Asian reporter gave her view on the recent assassination. "The victim, 41-year-old Douglas Miles, was killed last night in a brutal mob-style execution. His throat was cut open with a steel kitchen knife, and his body was found in a dumpster behind the local fast food establishment, _Big Burger, _which was owned by Miles. Miles, successful businessman and owner of several chains of fast food restaurants including _Big Burger, Chicken Field_, and the _Happy House_ pancake eatery, was recently accused of the murder and rape of 22-year old Julianne Moore, who was found dead in an alleyway nearly three years ago. Unfortunately, due to lack of evidence, Mr. Miles was cleared of all charges and released after serving a term of-"

47 shut the TV off and retired to his private suite. This place was a more upscale place than he was used to. In a small cage next to his computer, a small tan hamster raced tirelessly on its wheel, never seeming to stop.

The creaking noise of the plastic wheel squeaked in perfect rhythm with the ticking of the clock. 47 had 16 hours left until he left for another mission.

As of late, his business had been fairly booming. He was receiving three contracts a week, receiving a steady flow of income, and nobody knew where he was. The only person he could trust right know was Diana, and even she didn't know where he was.

At least for now, he was safe, and he liked it that way.

Wall Street was frenzied in New York. Stock was dropping like a rock, and all of that stock was coming from a small, private firm, where Jarod Raines had recently been employed. Ever since Frankie Mendez began cheating the company out, everything was slowly dropping, but now that Jarod had reopened the case, it seemed the firm was going to hell.

Why was stock falling? Someone had just hired twenty new lawyers, and they couldn't afford it. It seemed like everything was insane.

Jarod Raines was one of the employed lawyers, taking advantage of the opportunity. When Kirk Illsing decided to hire new employees, it looked like he was trying to run the company into the ground. From what Jarod could tell, that was what he meant to do.

Sitting in his new laptop, he monitored the stock closely; realization slowly dawned that he had very little time to figure out this murder.

From what he could predict, he had maybe a week before this company financially collapsed.

**Another short, rushed chapter, and so far, I think this entire story is going to be rushed. I need to dedicate more time to this project, and others.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Okay….right now I'm tired, groggy, and wanting to sleep. But, here's a new chapter. (If it's rushed, I won't be surprised.)**

Jarod the Pretender eyed his office carefully, absorbing each new sight like a sponge. "So, this is where you'll be working, Mr. Raines, so I trust you'll be very tidy around here. If anything is a problem, I'll be in my office until 3, and after that you can get my private number from Miranda, my secretary. So, you can just go and put some things out and we'll send in some papers for you to sign momentarily. Once again, thank you for joining us today." Kirk Illsing finished speaking and left Jarod to rearrange his office.

He did it within a few hours, and then he sat and twiddled his thumbs until 3:10 PM. He stood and left his office, a goal set in his mind.

At the desk in front of Illsing's office, an attractive Brunette girl sat, her blue eyes glowing in the light of her computer. Jarod felt a very strange feeling as he approached, but decided to ignore it.

"Hello, you're Miranda, right?"

She smiled, "That would be me."

"It appears I missed Mr. Illsing. I accidentally misplaced some of my files and I was wondering if he could help. Do you have his number?" she handed him a slip of paper, he neat handwriting perfectly illustrating each number.

"Thank you," Jarod said, and then turned to leave. Deliberately, he turned around." Hey, I was looking through them and noticed a peculiar notice addressed to a Franklin Mendez. Do you know where he is? There was a check with it and I would like to return it to him."

Her face grew nervous. "Mr. Mendez died thirteen years ago. I'm sorry, I'll take the check for you."

"I'm sorry to hear that, do you think maybe I could have his address, I would at least like to pay my respects to his family."

"I don't think Mr. Illsing would like that…"

"Come on…it'll be our little secret."

She warmed to that idea, and jotted down the address. "Here, but it didn't come from me."

"Came from whom?"

They both shared a laugh before Jarod returned to his new office.

The laptop beeped twice, and the bald man moved to answer his mailbox. Inside was a voicemail from Diana. He turned it on. "Hello, 47. We have another mission for you. Better pack a parka, Russia's cold this time of year."

Later that day, Jarod had pulled up to the Mendez house in his rented Porsche, as signature car for high-rolling lawyers. On the porch, a woman in her early forties sat around looking depressed. Jarod approached her.

"Hello, are you Mrs. Mendez?"

She looked up, her withering face creased with premature wrinkling. "Yes, I am."

"I'm an associate of your husband, Franklin. Is he in today?"

"How exactly did you know my husband?" she asked suspiciously.

"We worked on a few cases together, I'm Jarod Raines, and it's a pleasure to meet you."

They shook hands and exchanged pleasantries before retreating into the art deco styled living room, much in contrast to the sorrowful woman sitting across from him.

"Well, Jarod, may I call you Jarod?"

"Please do."

"My husband was killed over a decade ago. The police said it was a car wreck."

"Oh, I'm so sorry. It must have been hard on you."

"I was heartbroken. Frankie was such a sweet man. He would buy me chocolates and jewelry once a week and we would go fishing with his cousin on the weekends. He was a very soft spoken person. Sometimes you would barely know he was there…" Oh the irony…

"He was also an incredible lawyer." Jarod fibbed.

"Yes, that too…"

"If you don't mind, but may I see his office? Pay my respects?"

"Sure, it's right this way." She showed him down a narrow corridor which ended in an old wood door. They both entered, one curious, the other nostalgic.

"I left it exactly as when he died. It's so sad when a young man dies like him. I wish he was here…."

"Can I have a moment alone in here…?" Jarod put on a face of mild depression.

"I understand. Take all the time you need." She left, shutting the door behind her. Jarod immediately stepped behind the man's desk. In his desk drawers were various financial documents, memos, and similar legal papers. He turned his attention to his closet. There were many expensive suits with different colored ties hung on the wall. Still, there was nothing of interest.

He then observed the clutter on his desk. His computer was off, and there was a bunch of sticky notes next to it. He pulled off the top one. On it read something fairly indefinable to him.

In carefully practiced handwriting he recognized as Kirk Illsing's, he noticed that it said:

ICA

555-9012

REMOVE MENDEZ!!!

Jarod also noted that in the corner, a much less neat handwriting identical to Mendez's signature on the papers in his desk, was written:

Stock Rise

Illsing $$$

MUST ESCAPE!

The pieces of the puzzle were coming into place. "Jarod? Um….Mr. Raines?" Jarod hurried to the door, opening it deliberately slow.

"Are you okay, Jarod?" the sweet woman asked.

"Yes, Mrs. Mendez, I'm fine."

"Okay, I'm sorry; I just get nervous when people go in his office. Who knows what they might do…"

"Agreed." They made small talk, mostly about Jarod's fictional relationship with Mrs. Mendez's husband. Then, he said his goodbyes and left, returning to his apartment building in wonderment, popping PEZ into his mouth one after the other.

He had a call to make.

"Miss Parker, we got something." A nervous Broots declared.

"What is it?" Miss Parker said between drags on her cigarette.

"We got a lead from a taxi driver who took Jarod all the way from the shop in Colorado to His final destination in east Manhattan we don't know where he is exactly, but we know he's in that area."

"Then pack your bags, we're heading down there now.

**Well, it's not as bad as the other chapters, but I still aim to do better. Let me know if I should keep this up!!!**


	5. ERROR NOTICE

**ATTENTION!**

**Due to an error on my computer, I lost all of my files in my My Writing folder, including my Fan fiction stories. I was able to recover some of my older files, but I lost the software that read and edited my newer ones. **

**Until this problem has been corrected, the following stories are temporarily(until further notice) discontinued. **

**Until I can figure out how to fix this, I will start new Fics and work on my novel.**

**These are the discontinued stories and their corresponding categories:**

_**GTA: Soldier's War (Grand Theft Auto)**_

_**Simulation 47 (Hitman/ Pretender Crossover)**_

_**Through The Darkness (Silent Hill)**_

**Also, the following stories of which I have NOT uploaded will not be uploaded:**

_**RE: Peril of Bravo Team (Resident Evil)**_

_**Blood Will Flow (Various Slasher Crossovers)**_

**Nonetheless, the following stories are being cancelled no matter what:**

_**Simulation 47 (it is terrible and rushed, plus it has no plot either)**_

_**AVP: Retaliation (No idea where it's going)**_

**Until I repair this problem, please enjoy my other Fan fictions and review them!**


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